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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838166">You Made It All Okay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion'>TrueIllusion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Arguments, Car Accidents, Cow of Clarity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s07e05 The Sniffles, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Making Up, Minor Injuries, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Podfic Welcome, Post-Canon, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:26:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838166</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The incoming winter storm was why David had gone to Heather’s farm that afternoon rather than waiting until the following morning, when the worst of the storm was supposed to hit the Greater Elms. In fact, he’d left when he did so he’d be sure to have plenty of time to get back to Schitt’s Creek before the snow even started, but now, that appeared to be a moot point.</p><p>Patrick was considering dialing David’s number for a fourth time -- and perhaps leaving a voicemail -- when the phone started to vibrate in his hand, and a number he didn’t recognize flashed up on the screen.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek Season 7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCSeason7">SCSeason7</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Prompt:</strong><br/>7x05 - The Sniffles</p><p>David is in a car accident returning from a vendor. Even though David is expected to be fine, the incident scares Patrick considerably. He continues to hover over David and take care of things that David could do. It starts driving him crazy. Maybe they both need some TLC. Patrick does a good job of caring for David, but David also does a good job of caring for Patrick too.</p><p>Dear Prompter - Far be it from me to resist a whumpy prompt. ;) I hope this fulfills what you were hoping for when you posted this prompt, and that you enjoy!</p><p>And, to my beta and cheerleader for this fic -- you know who you are -- thanks for everything. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patrick was normally better than this. Better at pushing down worry -- at finding the most innocuous explanation for unexpected events, as opposed to David’s tendency to take the slightest hint of uncertainty and turn it into a disaster of epic proportions.  Better at staying calm and waiting things out, and keeping the worst-case scenarios out of his head.</p><p>Two hours ago, that was exactly where he’d been. Telling himself David was fine -- that he’d probably just gotten caught up talking to Heather (or sampling cheeses, which could easily become an all-day affair for his husband). That he was just running late. That the reason he hadn’t answered Patrick’s call was because he wanted to drive safely, since the radio in the Lincoln barely picked up FM stations and definitely didn’t offer bluetooth.</p><p>But now, with closing time already past, the cash drawer counted down, and the day’s deposit stored in the safe in the back room, it was getting harder and harder for Patrick to push his worries away and continue to assure himself that everything was fine. Particularly when his second and third attempts at calling David went unanswered, and <i>especially</i> as large, wet snowflakes started to fall outside the window, dotting the sidewalk and the street with flecks of white.</p><p>The incoming winter storm was why David had gone to Heather’s farm that afternoon rather than waiting until the following morning, when the worst of the storm was supposed to hit the Greater Elms. In fact, he’d left when he did so he’d be sure to have plenty of time to get back to Schitt’s Creek before the snow even started, but now, that appeared to be a moot point.</p><p>Patrick was considering dialing David’s number for a fourth time -- and perhaps leaving a voicemail -- when the phone started to vibrate in his hand, and a number he didn’t recognize flashed up on the screen.</p><p>Patrick’s brain was still trying to find plausible explanations for David’s lateness -- and now this phone call from an unknown number -- even as he slid his thumb over the screen to answer the call and brought the phone to his ear.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Hello, is this Patrick Brewer?”</p><p>Patrick didn’t recognize the voice either, and he could feel the sense of ease and calm in his brain already being edged out by restless uncertainty as he stumbled over his response. “Y-yes… this… this is he.”</p><p>“My name is Anne, and I’m calling from Elmdale General Hospital on behalf of David Rose…”</p><p>***</p><p>Patrick had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel of his Corolla the entire way to Elmdale, his brain now helpfully supplying a whole host of worst-case scenarios, despite Anne’s assurance that David was fine. She’d told him that they were setting David’s broken arm and that the concussion was minor, and he only needed a ride home, really. But all Patrick could think of was the fact that David was <i>hurt</i>, and that he was alone, and probably scared, and Patrick wanted to fix all of those things, just like he wanted to fix <i>everything</i> for David. He'd made a promise to protect David; to keep him safe. And he knew that the car accident wasn’t his fault -- how could it have been, when he wasn’t even there -- but a part of him couldn’t help but feel guilty, even though he really had no idea why.</p><p>Maybe if he’d called earlier, or if he’d told David to put off the trip to Heather’s until after the storm had passed, or if he’d just gone himself and left David to tend to the store, none of this would have happened. Maybe then they’d both be home right now, safe in their little stone cottage, sipping from steaming mugs of herbal tea as a fire blazed in the hearth. But instead, Patrick was on his way to the hospital, where David had apparently been for the last two hours after wrecking the Lincoln on one of the many country roads in Elm County. That big boat of a car -- built before airbags and antilock brakes were even a thing -- had always felt a little unsafe to Patrick on a good day, not to mention one with snow in the forecast. Maybe if David had taken the Corolla, he wouldn’t have a concussion and a broken arm.</p><p>The “what ifs” weren’t normally Patrick’s thing -- they were David’s territory almost exclusively -- but for some reason this time Patrick couldn’t stop his imagination from entertaining every possibility that might have changed this situation somehow, some way.</p><p>Loosening his grip on the wheel a tiny bit, Patrick inhaled a shaky breath, trying to make it as deep as he possibly could. He was supposed to be the even-keeled one, balancing out the drama and panic his husband was often prone to. He needed to stay calm; he wasn’t going to do David any good if he showed up to the hospital on the verge of panic himself.</p><p>Thankfully, the snow had stayed relatively light so far, making it possible for Patrick to safely drive well over the posted speed limit in an effort to shorten the distance between himself and David as much as possible. Even so, it still felt too far.</p><p>After what seemed like eons but was really only a little over half an hour, Patrick pulled into the parking lot closest to the emergency room at Elmdale General. He turned into the first open space he saw and put the car into park, unfastening his seatbelt and opening the door in one swift motion intended to help him get to David faster.</p><p>Patrick could feel panic starting to rise in his chest as he walked briskly toward the entrance, tugging his toque down further over his ears to guard against the biting wind that was currently pelting him with tiny, icy snowflakes.</p><p>Pausing just outside the sliding glass doors, Patrick closed his eyes and took another deep breath, grateful it was steadier this time and hoping it would help him to remain calm, for David. He could fall apart later, but for right now, he needed to keep it together for the sake of his husband, who was probably wreaking havoc on the entire emergency department at the moment, especially if he was in pain.</p><p>Patrick blew out a breath and shook his head, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat as he stepped through the sliding glass doors, halfway expecting to hear David’s voice, indignant and shrill, giving some poor medical professional the what-for. Instead, he was met the kind voice of the receptionist, asking how she could help him.</p><p>Patrick cursed the slight waver in his voice as he said, “I’m Patrick Brewer, and I’m here to see my husband, David Rose. Someone called me to tell me he’d been in an accident.” So much for staying completely calm, cool, and collected.</p><p>“Ah, yes, Mr. Rose.” The woman’s lips curled into the slightest hint of an amused smile, making Patrick wonder just what exactly David had done to make a name for himself during his short hospital stay, but he decided not to ask. “I’ll buzz you in through that door,” she said, pausing to gesture toward a set of wide double doors off to Patrick’s left, “and you’ll find him in exam room three, on the right.”</p><p>Something behind the doors emitted an awful buzzing sound as Patrick nodded and uttered a quick “thank you” to the receptionist before making his way quickly down the hall to exam room three. When he got there, he found the door slightly ajar and David visible through the small opening, lying back on a gurney with his eyes closed, brow furrowed as if he might be in pain. His right arm was splinted, wrapped with bandages that made it appear at least twice its normal size, and resting in a sling on his torso. He was still wearing the same pair of distressed black jeans he’d put on that morning -- the ones that made his ass look positively delicious and made it hard for Patrick to get through the workday, frankly -- but instead of the black and white houndstooth Alexander McQueen sweater he’d selected to go with said jeans, he was wearing only his undershirt, which, for David, was practically naked. Patrick hoped that the sweater was safe, but he had a feeling that probably wasn’t the case, given the state of David’s arm.</p><p>“Are you Patrick?” A soft voice from behind him brought Patrick back out of his thoughts.</p><p>Patrick turned and nodded, and the woman to whom the voice belonged -- Chloe, an RN, according to her badge -- smiled.</p><p>“He’s been asking for you.”</p><p>“Is he…” Patrick paused and took a breath, trying to collect himself again. “He’s okay, right?”</p><p>“The doctor will be in to speak with both of you shortly, and then he’ll be ready to go home, but yes, the short answer is that he’s okay.”</p><p>“Good,” Patrick breathed, relieved to have confirmation from a second person with a medical degree that David was fine, even though he felt a little bad for having not completely believed the first.</p><p>“You can go on in,” Chloe said, her serene, reassuring smile doing wonders for Patrick’s anxiety. “We’ve given him some pain medication, and he does have a mild concussion, so he might be a bit out of it, but the CT was clear, so it’s nothing to be concerned about. I’ll let the doctor go over everything else with you, but your husband is very lucky.”</p><p>Patrick nodded as Chloe reached out to touch his arm, gently urging him forward before she turned to walk back to the nurse’s station. Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, Patrick took another deep breath, then pushed open the door.</p><p>David’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of the door opening, and he winced as he turned his head slightly to the right to make eye contact with Patrick.</p><p>“Hi,” he said softly, his voice gravelly from either pain or disuse, Patrick wasn’t sure which.</p><p>“Hi,” Patrick echoed, unable to stop the smile that he was pretty sure would always come over his lips when his eyes met David’s. “How are you?”</p><p>David snorted, his gaze trailing downward toward his bandaged arm. “I’ve been better.”</p><p>“I was worried.” Patrick reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off of David’s forehead, his own focus falling on what appeared to be a darkening bruise on David’s left cheek, and a tiny cut near his eyebrow being held together with a butterfly bandage.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I couldn’t… I couldn’t find my phone.” David’s words were slightly slurred, and the momentary pause where he seemed to be searching for a word made Patrick’s stomach clench.</p><p>“It’s okay; I’m just glad you’re alright.”</p><p>David nodded and closed his eyes again. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Lights are too bright.”</p><p>Before Patrick could turn and look to see if there was a dimmer on the light switch, there was a light knock on the partially open door and a tall, dark-skinned man walked in, a tablet and a stack of papers clutched in one hand.</p><p>“You must be Mr. Brewer,” he said, extending his other hand toward Patrick to shake. “I’m Dr. McGill, and I’m the attending physician handling your husband’s case tonight.”</p><p>“Is he… He’s okay, right?” Patrick wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to repeat the same question he’d just asked the nurse, but some distrustful part of his brain needed the reassurance, especially after seeing David’s current state.</p><p>“I’m <i>fine</i>,” David interjected from the bed, though the obvious pain in his voice belied his words.</p><p>Dr. McGill smiled. “He <i>is</i> going to be fine, and once I go over these instructions with you both, you’ll be able to take him home.”</p><p>Patrick nodded and reached out for David’s uninjured hand, weaving their fingers together in an attempt to not only comfort his husband, but also to ground himself. There were at least a thousand questions already swirling in his mind, but he forced himself to stay quiet as the doctor went over everything he and David needed to know -- in a nutshell, plenty of rest, with wakeups every couple of hours that night and no screens for the next 48 hours. They’d also need to make an appointment with an orthopedic specialist to cast David’s arm once the swelling went down. Dr. McGill seemed confident that David wouldn’t need surgery since the bones weren’t displaced, but the orthopedist would be the final authority on that.</p><p>Through it all, Patrick kept nodding and saying “uh huh” at all the right times, using the sensation of David’s fingers in his to help keep his brain the present moment, staying dutifully away from the thousands of rabbit holes that his worries had been digging for the entire drive to Elmdale. Finally, the stapled packet of papers was handed to Patrick, along with a plastic bag containing David’s ‘personal effects.’ Patrick glanced down at the bag, his stomach dropping down into his shoes at the sight of David’s sweater in a haphazard wad, with a jagged cut in the knit of the sleeve clearly visible.</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it,” David whispered, his lips drawn into a tight line.</p><p>“Things can be replaced; you can’t. You’re okay, David, and that’s all that matters.”</p><p>“I said I didn’t want to talk about it.” David’s voice was soft, and Patrick tried to keep his gut from twisting at the absence of the scathing retort he’d expected from David -- something about how a man who shops at discount stores and buys the same shirt in four different shades of blue <i>would</i> say something like that.</p><p>Before Patrick could give that too much thought, the door was opening again and a petite young woman with short, curly blonde hair was pushing a wheelchair through it.</p><p>“Your chariot awaits, Mr. Rose,” she said brightly, parking the chair alongside the gurney before helping David into it.</p><p>David was moving very slowly, and Patrick could tell he was already sore, so he wasn’t sure he wanted to imagine what the next morning was going to be like. He knew they’d get through it together, though, so he forced himself to focus on doing whatever he could to help David -- taking off his own coat and wrapping it around David’s shoulders, since David’s seemed to be missing, then going to get the car so David could spend as little time as possible outside.</p><p>When Patrick walked through the sliding glass doors, he was hit square in the face by a cold wind, accompanied by a torrent of large, fluffy snowflakes. The grass was now completely covered and the asphalt wasn’t far behind, save for a few paths of tire tracks, some of which were clearer than others. He shivered as he shoved his hands further into the pockets of his jeans, grateful that he’d chosen to wear his fleece pullover to work today. He just hoped he’d be able to get both of them home safely before the snowstorm got too bad, and without David having to spend an extended amount of time in the car when what he probably needed was to lie down and rest.</p><p>Patrick put the heater on full blast as he pulled the car around to the covered pickup area where David was parked in his wheelchair, the young woman still standing behind him. It took both of them to get David into the car and buckled in while causing as little discomfort as possible, but they eventually got him settled, and soon they were on their way back to Schitt’s Creek.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>David spent the next forty-five minutes with his head leaned back against the headrest, eyes open just enough for Patrick to tell he was still awake. He was quieter than Patrick had ever seen him, leaving Patrick once again struggling to push down his increasing sense of unease. He didn’t know how to handle a quiet David. One that was making sarcastic remarks or giving a high-pitched tirade about something inconsequential, Patrick could deal with, but David saying absolutely nothing -- just staring out the window through heavy eyelids -- made Patrick feel like he was about to crawl out of his skin.</p><p>He fought the urge to start a conversation, knowing that David’s unusual silence was likely because he wasn’t feeling well, but the heavier the snow got, the more Patrick longed for a distraction to keep his own anxiety from getting any worse than it already was.</p><p>“You okay?” Patrick asked, quickly adding, “You don’t have to talk if you don’t feel like it. I just want to make sure you’re alright. You’re awfully quiet.” Maybe if he gave David an easy out, he wouldn’t have to feel <i>too</i> guilty.</p><p>A few beats of silence passed between them before David answered, his voice soft. “Mmm, well, considering that my head still feels like it’s spinning on that fucking patch of ice, right now I’m just hoping we make it home before the nausea hits me again.”</p><p>“We’re almost there.” Patrick reached over to take David’s left hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, fighting the urge to ask David more questions about what had happened. “You can close your eyes, if that helps.”</p><p>David took a full round of breath, his exhale sounding more like a sigh, before he spoke again, so quietly this time that Patrick barely heard him. “It doesn’t.”</p><p>Biting his tongue to keep from saying anything else, Patrick gave David a rueful smile, squeezing David’s hand one more time before returning his own to the wheel. As much as he hated to let go, the road conditions weren’t getting any better, and the last thing David needed was to be involved in a second accident tonight.</p><p>The snow was falling furiously now, covering the ground as well as the road, and the reflection of Patrick’s headlights against it made it almost blinding, prompting Patrick to tighten his grip on the wheel as he struggled to see the road ahead of them. He could feel his neck tensing and his shoulders inching further upward toward his ears with each passing minute despite his best efforts to stay calm.</p><p>The trip was slow-going thanks to the near whiteout conditions, but they finally made it home, and Patrick wasn’t sure he’d ever been more thrilled to see their house than he was in that moment. Carefully, Patrick pulled into the snow-covered driveway, parking the car as close to their back door as he possibly could. He grabbed the stack of paperwork from the back seat before coming around to open David’s door. Patrick managed to stand back long enough to let David get his feet on solid ground, but he couldn’t fight the impulse to press a steadying hand to David’s back as he slowly brought himself up to stand.</p><p>Patrick expected David to say something to the effect of, “I can walk, you know,” or, “It’s my arm that’s broken, not my legs,” but instead, David seemed to lean into his touch, even letting Patrick wrap an arm around his torso as they shuffled through the freshly fallen snow.</p><p>David let Patrick lead him through the kitchen and into the living room, where they paused just long enough for him to give a slight nod in response to Patrick asking him if he wanted to go upstairs before they did exactly that -- making their way up the stairs side-by-side, Patrick taking on more and more of David’s weight the closer they got to the top.</p><p>When they got to the bedroom, David practically collapsed onto the bed, barely giving Patrick enough time to remove his shoes before he was leaning back into the stack of throw pillows -- the very same ones he’d told a feverish Patrick were for “decoration only, not for sleeping” a few weeks before. Patrick’s lips curved into a small smile as he helped David swing his feet and legs up onto the bed, helping him out of his jeans and into a pair of sweatpants before grabbing the knitted throw off of the armchair in the corner and laying it over his husband’s legs.</p><p>“I’ll go grab you a glass of water and your medication,” Patrick said, one hand resting gently on David’s shin. “Is there anything else you need?”</p><p>“Ice, please… for my arm.” David grunted as he shifted his body a little in the bed, reaching over with his left arm to grab a couple of the pillows that weren’t currently under his head and torso.</p><p>“Here, let me help you.”</p><p>Patrick reached for the pillows in his husband’s hand, ignoring the look of confusion and mild annoyance David gave him as he took over the task of creating a platform of sorts for David’s right arm -- chalking the latter up to the fact that David was probably exhausted. David slipped the sling over his head and set it aside before lowering his arm onto the stack of pillows Patrick had just made.</p><p>“That okay?”</p><p>David nodded, his eyes already closing again.</p><p>“Be right back.”</p><p>“‘kay.”</p><p>Patrick turned to go downstairs, grateful to have a few tasks to keep him busy for the moment, particularly since the night’s events still had him feeling a bit on-edge. There were still so many unanswered questions about what had happened, but now certainly didn’t seem like the time to ask them, no matter how uneasy it made him to not have the answers. Patrick was the sort of person who needed information, so he could analyze the data and come up with a plan. But right now, he needed to focus on David; he knew that. He could worry about the car, the insurance, and whether or not anyone else had been involved in the accident, later. Right now, David was his priority.</p><p>As he gathered up everything he thought David might need for the next few hours, Patrick continued reminding himself that David was fine -- that they were both home safe, and that was all that mattered. But the anxiety that had been tying his stomach in knots for hours simply wouldn’t let go, making him feel a bit nauseous as he dug around in the freezer for the bag of peas that he <i>knew</i> was in there somewhere. Finally, he found it behind David’s stash of Ben and Jerry’s. (<i>A flavor for every mood</i>, David had said, when he’d put four containers in their cart at the supermarket in Elmdale the week before.) He wrapped the bag of peas in a kitchen towel and grabbed the glass of water from the counter, then headed back upstairs.</p><p>When he got there, he found David already fast asleep, his head tilted to the side and nearly resting on his shoulder as he snored softly, his jaw slack and his mouth hanging open just a tiny bit. Patrick set the glass of water and the bottle containing David’s pain medication on the nightstand. He knew David probably needed it, but he also didn’t have the heart to wake him, so instead, he carefully laid the bag of frozen peas atop David’s bandaged arm, moving as slowly as possible so as not to disturb him.</p><p>David snuffled in his sleep -- likely a reaction to the sudden coldness on his arm -- but he didn’t open his eyes, and Patrick let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as David’s breath settled back into a deep, even rhythm.</p><p>It was a relief to see David so peaceful, even though his brow still had the slightest furrow of discomfort that Patrick knew from experience probably wouldn’t go away for a while. Patrick had certainly had his share of injuries growing up, as most active children do, and he was no stranger to the pain of a broken arm. He’d been through it twice, in fact -- once in little league when a slide into home plate went awry, and once from horsing around after hockey practice with his high school teammates and losing his footing on the ice. Regardless, he knew it hurt, and that it was frustrating -- and neither of his had been his dominant arm. But David was right-handed, and that alone was enough to make the knot in Patrick’s stomach pull just a little tighter as he wondered just what the next six to eight weeks would be like.</p><p>Exhaling a quiet sigh, Patrick shook his head in an attempt to keep himself from spiraling. He always told David that he needed to learn how to disengage from his thoughts and let it all go, but that was easier said than done. Patrick knew that -- he’d <i>always</i> known that -- but now, he had to force himself to live it. Especially since he was sure that once the stronger pain medication he’d been given at the hospital wore off, all bets would be off when it came to David. David, who could be overly dramatic on a <i>good</i> day. David, who seemed to equate a sniffle with impending death. David, the man he loved, who needed him right now.</p><p><i>I should take a shower,</i> Patrick thought to himself. <i>While David’s asleep.</i> Because as much as he didn’t like to think about it, he knew that the likelihood of all hell breaking loose when David woke up was high.</p><p>The warm water beating down on Patrick’s back helped melt some of the tension he’d been feeling in the hours since he’d answered the call from the hospital, making space for him to breathe. As the tense muscles finally relaxed, a deep sense of exhaustion seemed to replace the general unease he’d spent the evening mired in. Maybe he was more tired than he thought.</p><p>When the water started to cool, Patrick reluctantly rotated the faucet controls to the “off” position before pushing back the curtain and grabbing his towel. His legs felt suddenly heavy when he stepped over the side of the tub, and he moved much more slowly than usual as he dried himself off and put on his pajamas. They’d both missed dinner, but Patrick wasn’t even hungry, and he doubted David was either, since his main focus when they got home seemed to have been getting into bed as quickly as possible.</p><p>Standing in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom, Patrick paused for a moment to look at his husband, curled up in their bed. A fond smile spread over his lips at the physical reminder that David was okay -- that his injuries would heal, and soon all of this would only be a memory. For right now, though, the only thing Patrick wanted was to be close to his husband.</p><p>Quietly and carefully, Patrick climbed into bed alongside David, snuggling as close as he possibly could to David’s left side. He wanted to put his arms around David, to hold him tight and rest his head on David’s shoulder, but he also didn’t want to cause any pain, so for the time being, this would have to do.</p><p>David’s breathing stayed deep and steady as Patrick reached for his phone to set the first of many two-hour alarms they’d need that night before turning out the light and tucking his knees against the side of David’s thigh, his eyes drifting closed as he let himself be lulled to sleep by the gentle expansion and contraction of David’s chest against his own.</p><p>The next thing Patrick was aware of was the sound of his phone alarm, followed by David groaning alongside him.</p><p>“What the fuck?” David mumbled, pulling one of the pillows over his head.</p><p>“Sorry,” Patrick whispered, bringing a hand up to rest on David’s chest. “We just have to make sure that you’re able to wake normally throughout the night, remember? Every two hours?”</p><p>David muttered something under his breath and tossed the pillow aside before struggling to push himself up into a sitting position.</p><p>“Hey, you don’t have to actually get up,” Patrick said softly. “As long as you’re awake, that’s good. You can go back to sleep now.”</p><p>David grunted in response as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, pausing for a moment to get his bearings before walking slowly toward the bathroom.</p><p>“Need help?” Patrick asked, already moving to get out of bed himself.</p><p>“‘m fine. Gotta pee.”</p><p>Patrick watched David shuffle into the bathroom and close the door, fighting the urge to ask him again if he needed any help, in case he’d somehow forgotten that his dominant hand was currently out of commission. Instead, Patrick busied himself by removing the decorative pillows from the bed and stacking them in the armchair in their usual pile before turning down the covers, then retrieving the nice down pillows from the guest room for David to rest his arm on. He returned the now-thawed bag of peas to the freezer for later use and filled up a fresh glass of water for David, taking it upstairs. When he got there, he was surprised to see that David was apparently still in the bathroom, but all he could hear was the sound of water running, which helped him relax a tiny bit. He’d just shaken two pills out of the bottle containing David’s medication, set them out on the nightstand, and started to climb into bed when he heard a loud clatter behind the bathroom door, followed by David cursing under his breath.</p><p>“You okay?” Patrick called.</p><p>“Yeah.” David’s response sounded distant and distracted, making Patrick wonder what on earth he’d dropped, although with David’s assortment of creams and serums taking up the majority of their medicine cabinet, there was no telling.</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“I’ll be out in a minute.”</p><p>Patrick knew he had to take David at his word and give him privacy, but that didn’t make it easy, particularly as he heard more muttered curse words and the sounds of David rummaging around in the cabinet, then dropping something again. The longer it went on, the harder staying in bed got, and Patrick was just about to say “fuck it” and go in anyway when the door finally opened and David emerged.</p><p>When he climbed back into bed, he smelled of his sandalwood moisturizer and the hair at his temples was damp, indicating he’d at least made an attempt to wash his face while he was in there.</p><p>“You smell good,” Patrick whispered, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of his husband as David settled himself between the sheets, propping his right arm up on the pillows again.</p><p>“I feel disgusting, but I’m too exhausted to shower, so three steps of my facial regimen will have to do.” David wrinkled his nose as he leaned back into the pillows and let his eyes close again.</p><p>“I put your medication on the nightstand. I’d take it if I were you, even if you don’t feel like you need it yet. The more you can keep the inflammation down, the better.”</p><p>David nodded as he reached over to retrieve the pills, then picked up the glass of water and drained almost half of it in a few swallows before lying back down. Patrick once again snuggled himself as close to David’s side as he could get, feeling his body relax automatically when David reached out to wrap his left arm around Patrick’s shoulders, tugging him in close.</p><p>David let out a contented sigh as Patrick’s fingers traced a gentle pattern over his chest. “Love you,” he breathed, already sounding half asleep.</p><p>“Love you too,” Patrick echoed, his own eyes starting to drift closed. “I’m glad you’re alright.”</p><p>“Yeah,” David whispered, “me too.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following morning found Patrick in full “fix-it” mode -- downstairs at 6 a.m. with a full mug of tea and his laptop, trying to find out as much as he could about filing the necessary insurance claims to get David a new car. Even though Patrick hadn’t even seen the Lincoln and therefore had no idea what condition it was in at the moment, there was no way in hell he was ever letting David get behind the wheel of that death trap again, even if it wasn’t totalled.</p><p>Patrick sighed as he took a sip of his tea, turning to look out the window at the thick layer of snow that had blanketed every horizontal surface in their yard. Normally at this hour, he’d be outside shoveling so they could make it to the store on time, but given the unusual circumstances, he’d made an executive decision to close the store for the day -- giving David a chance to rest, and himself more time to come up with some sort of a gameplan for the weeks to come.</p><p>His mind was already moving in a million different directions, thinking about all of the things he needed to get done -- establishing a schedule for David’s pain medication, calling the insurance company, scheduling David’s appointment with the orthopedic specialist, finding someone to help cover the store in the times when he’d need to drive David to Elmdale for appointments, making sure there was plenty of easy-to-prepare food in the house for days when David would need to be alone… The more things Patrick jotted down, the more his brain seemed to come up with, until he had a full sheet of items to check off to make sure that David wouldn’t have a single thing to worry about.</p><p>Having to wake David up every two hours throughout the night had been just as difficult as Patrick had expected it to be, given that David was very much <i>not</i> a morning person and never woke up easily, even when he wasn’t in pain. True to form, David had become progressively more grumpy with each alarm, complaining of a headache at 3 a.m. that was much worse by 5 a.m., with two hours left to go before David could take more painkillers. Patrick hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after that, electing instead to come downstairs, make his tea, and get started on his to-do list.</p><p>Patrick’s stomach let out a long, low growl, reminding him that three cups of tea with honey didn’t exactly qualify as breakfast. Sighing to himself, Patrick closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair, bringing his fingertips up to massage his temples as he closed his eyes. It already felt like it had been a long day, and it was just getting started. Shaking his head to clear it, Patrick blinked his eyes open and pushed himself up to stand. He had to do more than just think; he had to get started on something. So, breakfast it was.</p><p>Patrick was about halfway through making a batch of pumpkin spice pancakes -- one of David’s favorites, second only to the blueberry ricotta ones from their favorite brunch spot in Elmdale -- when he heard footsteps descending the last few stairs. He looked over his shoulder to see David pulling out a chair and sinking down into it gingerly, bringing his bandaged arm to rest on the table.</p><p>“Morning,” Patrick said. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Like I ran the Lincoln into a tree,” David mumbled, his eyes still half-closed like they were most mornings before he’d had his coffee.</p><p>Patrick hoped he’d managed to hide his sharp intake of breath at David’s words, trying his best to play it cool as he mustered up the courage to ask for more details. “So, um, what happened, exactly?”</p><p>“Hit a patch of ice and spun out coming around a curve after I left Heather’s… didn’t stop until the driver’s side door hit the tree. I tried to save it, but it all happened so fast, and the next thing I knew my arm was killing me and there was blood all over my face, and some guy was leaning in the broken window, asking me if I was okay.”</p><p>Patrick nodded, his imagination already conjuring up images of the sheer terror David must have experienced in that moment, making him wish even more that he’d sent David in the Corolla. It at least had airbags, so maybe the whole thing could have felt a little less… violent.</p><p>“Patrick?” The sound of David’s voice pulled Patrick back out of his thoughts.</p><p>“Huh?” Shaking his head again, Patrick forced himself to focus on the task at-hand -- making pancakes for his husband, who was sitting at their kitchen table, and was going to be just fine.</p><p>“I asked if I could borrow your phone to text Stevie. Since I don’t have mine right now. Before she thinks I’m like, missing, or something. I know I’m not supposed to be looking at screens right now, but--”</p><p>“Sure.” Patrick pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it before handing it to David and mentally adding one more item to his list -- either locate David’s phone or get him a new one. “Just one, though, okay? Then no more screens until at least tomorrow.”</p><p>He watched as David tried unsuccessfully to hold the phone and type before finally giving up and laying it down on the table in front of him, then poking at it with his left index finger to tap out his message to Stevie. Patrick could tell it was slow-going and frustrating, and he hated the fact that he knew this was probably how <i>everything</i> was going to be for David, at least for the next several weeks.</p><p>Patrick plated up the last of the pancakes as his phone chimed, presumably with Stevie’s response, followed by David sighing and grumbling, “Of course she wants to know what happened.”</p><p>“Why don’t you call her after breakfast?” Patrick suggested, leaning down to press a kiss to David’s temple as he set a full plate of pancakes in front of him. “If you feel like it.”</p><p>David let out a noncommittal hum and nodded, shifting in his chair to sit up a little straighter and managing to jostle his arm in the process, drawing a wince and a soft groan.</p><p>“Have you taken your meds?”</p><p>“If I could open the bottle, I would have.”</p><p>“Oh, right.” Patrick mentally kicked himself for not thinking to set two of David’s pills out on the nightstand before coming downstairs, but there was nothing he could do about that now. “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Patrick made his way back up to their bedroom, retrieving both David’s medication as well as his sling, to hopefully keep him from causing himself any more pain now that he was up and moving around. When he came back downstairs, he found David using the side of his fork to cut his pancakes using his left hand. Like the text message he’d sent to Stevie, it was clumsy and slow-going, but at least David was eating, so that was one good thing.</p><p>“I brought your sling too,” Patrick said, opening the pill bottle and shaking out two before handing them to David, who swallowed them dry. Patrick would never understand how David could do that, nor did he want to think about the probable reasons he was so well-practiced at it. “I thought it might help.”</p><p>David nodded and let Patrick help him into the sling, which he thankfully managed to do without causing too many whimpers or grimaces. He wished there was something more he could do to make David feel better, but there was nothing -- and powerless wasn’t a way Patrick Brewer liked to feel. Especially not when he felt like he was the cause of David’s pain, albeit indirectly.</p><p>They ate together at the table, with David painstakingly cutting little triangles out of his pancakes with just his fork and turning down Patrick’s offer of help with a shake of the head and a murmured, “I’m fine.”</p><p>As they ate, Patrick couldn’t help but notice David’s gaze occasionally falling on the bag Patrick had tossed haphazardly on the table when they’d come in the night before -- the one containing David’s sweater, and probably his wallet and anything else that had been in his pockets at the time of the accident.</p><p>When Patrick caught David’s eyes as they changed focus from the bag to his plate for the dozenth time, he’d barely opened his mouth to speak when David spoke first.</p><p>“I’ll never be able to replace that sweater,” he sighed, turning his gaze back downward toward his plate as he pulled off another piece of pancake with the tines of his fork. “I tried to get them to let me take it off normally. I told them I just needed someone to help me pull it off my arm, but they wouldn’t do it. So they fucking cut it off my arm instead. I should send them a bill.”</p><p>“Like I said last night, things can be replaced. You can’t. The sweater, we’ll figure out. But I’m pretty sure there aren’t any duplicate David Roses out there.”</p><p>David snorted. “Well, good luck replacing the sweater. Or any of my clothes. They’re all too old. Besides, even if you <i>did</i> manage to find one, we both know you’d never actually <i>buy</i> it.”</p><p>“Hey, let’s not forget that I bought you a Rick Owens for Christmas,” Patrick said teasingly, taking a bite of his own pancakes. Even if David was complaining -- and about him, no less -- it was still nice to hear him sounding a bit more like himself.</p><p>“And his pieces are <i>much</i> less expensive than Alexander McQueen.” David’s tone was matter of fact, punctuated by him laying his fork down and pushing the plate away. One full pancake remained untouched, but he’d still eaten more than Patrick expected he would. “So, I rest my case. Though I suppose I’ll have to wait until I’m out of this thing--” David paused, directing a gesture of disgust toward his splinted arm, “--before I can give it a proper burial.”</p><p>Patrick stifled a laugh at the thought of David burying his ruined sweater, knowing that now was definitely not the time to joke about such things, particularly given that David’s face was <i>not</i> a joking one. Not at all.</p><p>“Hey, why don’t you go call Stevie?” Patrick suggested, eager to change the subject before he ended up accidentally upsetting David. “I was just going to work on getting the insurance claim started, and then I can help you take a shower, if you want.”</p><p>David’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he looked like he was trying to work out why Patrick was volunteering to help him take a shower -- and not in a romantic or flirty way.</p><p>“You can’t get the splint wet,” Patrick supplied. “And I know from experience that washing your hair one-handed is very, very difficult.” He paused, watching David’s expression shift from confusion to something that looked more like frustration mixed with a tenuous acceptance. “Please? Let me help you. I’ll be happy to.”</p><p>“Mmm, okay,” David said slowly, his doubts about Patrick’s proposal still abundantly clear in the timbre of his voice. “But you have to promise me you will let me dispense the product and you will follow my instructions <i>very</i> carefully.”</p><p>“I promise… Scout’s honor.”</p><p>“I don’t know what that means.”</p><p>“It means I love you and I want to help you.”</p><p>David sighed and nodded, seemingly resigned to his current set of circumstances, as Patrick got up to clear the table and put the dishes in the sink. He gently guided David into the living room, helping him prop his right arm up on a stack of pillows before retrieving David’s headphones from their home office and connecting them to his own smartphone so David could talk to Stevie, hands free.</p><p>Once he had David settled, Patrick sank heavily into the armchair in their office -- with the door closed to give David some semblance of privacy -- and took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and let it out very, very slowly. He wasn’t sure why he still couldn’t shake the nervous, keyed-up feeling he’d had as he made the long drive to Elmdale the night before -- even with David right there with him, safe on their couch, talking to Stevie like it was just a regular day. Only it wasn’t a regular day at all, because David was hurt, and Patrick couldn’t seem to stop thinking about all of the ways that it could have been worse -- scenarios that would have ended in injuries much more severe than a broken arm, or worse.</p><p>He couldn’t let himself go down that road though; he had too many things he needed to get done, so he pressed the “talk” button on their cordless and started to dial the number for their insurance company.</p><p>Once he had the claim process started and had answered what felt like hundreds of questions that he didn’t quite know the answer to -- and had a feeling that post-concussion David probably didn’t either -- he dug out the referral card he’d been handed at the ER and called the orthopedist’s office to schedule David’s followup appointment for the next day.</p><p>Feeling productive helped -- like he was taking action, instead of just sitting by and having to wait for things to happen on their own. Even so, he knew that healing a broken bone involved a lot of waiting and patience, which was neither his nor David’s forte.</p><p>When Patrick went back into the living room, David was already off the phone with Stevie and had tilted his head back against the back of the sofa, eyes shut and headphones set aside on the coffee table.</p><p>“Hey,” he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to David’s forehead and brushing away a stray lock of hair. “How’s Stevie?”</p><p>David groaned and blinked his eyes open, though they were still heavy-lidded and a bit glassy. “Worried,” he mumbled, sounding half-asleep. “I can tell because she didn’t bother telling me what an idiot I was for trying to drive in that storm.”</p><p>“Well, I’m sure she’s just glad you’re okay.”</p><p>David made a noncommittal sound as his eyes drifted closed again.</p><p>“Hey, why don’t we go upstairs and I’ll help you get cleaned up, and then you can take a nap?”</p><p>“Okay,” David whispered, giving Patrick a small nod with his eyes still closed before leaning forward and pushing himself up to stand with a grimace and a muttered “fuck.”</p><p>Without saying anything, Patrick laid a hand on the small of David’s back, steadying him as they slowly climbed the stairs. He guided David toward the bed, helping him sit down before going into the bathroom to start the water. He’d already decided that a bath would be safer than a shower, both with David’s concussion and the splint on his arm. He dragged the ottoman that went with the armchair in the corner into the bathroom and covered it with a towel before opening the jar that contained David’s favorite bath salts and dumping in a generous amount.</p><p>Once the bath was ready, Patrick helped David undress and lower himself into the tub. As soon as he was immersed in the amber-and-sandalwood scented water, David let out a contented sigh.</p><p>“God, that feels good,” he breathed, leaning his head back against the towel Patrick had positioned against the back of the tub and bringing his injured arm to rest on the ottoman. “My whole body fucking hurts.”</p><p>“I’m sure,” Patrick said, running a gentle hand over David’s bare shoulder. “If you want, I can leave you to soak for a few minutes, and then I’ll come back and we can wash your hair.”</p><p>“Mmm… yes please,” David whispered, his eyes already closing.</p><p>“If you need anything, just yell.”</p><p>David gave a small nod and sank down just a little further into the water, seemingly content for the moment. Patrick, meanwhile, was reluctant to venture too far from their bedroom, for fear that he wouldn’t hear David if something happened or if David needed him. It was all Patrick could do to give him ten minutes to himself -- all of which Patrick spent straightening the towels in their hall closet, just because he needed <i>something</i> to do with his hands.</p><p>Helping David wash his hair was… weird. Normally, when they showered together, it was fun and romantic… flirty and playful. But this was… utilitarian. And, honestly, David didn’t seem too pleased about it, if his unusually quiet demeanor was any indication.</p><p>It served its purpose, though, and soon David was clean and dry, wearing a fresh set of pajamas, curled up in their bed. Patrick tucked him in with a kiss and moved on to cleaning up the bathroom -- letting the water out of the tub, drying the floor, and moving the ottoman back to its rightful place. By the time he’d finished with all of that, David was sound asleep, so Patrick continued his cleaning spree downstairs in the kitchen -- doing the dishes, wiping down the counters, and ultimately taking care of the clutter that had collected on the table over the course of a hectic couple of days. His gaze landed once again on the plastic bag containing David’s personal effects, and he could feel himself cringe at the thought of actually unpacking what was inside. It was an unexpected reaction, though perhaps not a surprising one given how anxious it was making him to think about what David had gone through the previous afternoon.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Patrick reached for the bag and pulled out the sweater, biting his lip as he unfolded it. One sleeve was sliced open from the wrist all the way to the neckline, the knit at the edges already beginning to fray. He could hear David’s voice in his head and imagine the scene that must have taken place in the emergency room as the cut was made -- likely something about how one doesn’t simply <i>manhandle</i> luxury knits. A fond smile played at his lips at the thought of David lecturing someone on proper care of knitwear in spite of a broken arm and concussion, but his amusement quickly faded when he noticed the blood. Irregular splotches and spots of deep red were clearly visible on the white portions of the houndstooth print, not so much on the black, but regardless, it was his husband’s blood. Blood that had probably come from the cut on his face, that had been shed in a moment of trauma -- a visible reminder of Patrick’s failure to protect David.</p><p>On some level, Patrick knew it was ridiculous to feel so <i>responsible</i> for what had happened, but he couldn’t seem to stop his brain from entertaining all of the “what ifs.” What if he’d told David not to go at all? Or what if he’d decided to go himself instead? Or, like he’d already chided himself about no less than a thousand times, what if he’d tossed David the keys to the Corolla? He would probably at least be in less pain if his body hadn’t borne the brunt of the impact, like it no doubt had in that relic of a car without crumple zones and modern safety equipment.</p><p>Patrick shook his head, fully aware that he had to stop following his thoughts down the wild network of rabbit holes his brain seemed to have generated in the last 24 hours. He needed something else to focus on -- a way to fix <i>something</i> for David, even if he couldn’t magically turn back time and keep the whole thing from happening. He folded the sweater carefully and took it into the laundry room, where he laid it on the shelf for safe keeping until David was well enough to make the decision on what to do with it. Returning to the table, Patrick emptied the remaining contents of the bag -- David’s wallet, his phone (one less thing to worry about), and the keyring where he kept the keys to their house at the store. He hung the keys on their designated hook by the door and took the wallet and phone into their home office, where he set them by David’s laptop.</p><p>His hand brushed against the mouse as he did so, causing the screen to light up and the screensaver to flash across the display for a second or two before giving way to an open web browser where David had apparently been doing a little shopping. Patrick’s brow furrowed as he sank down into the chair at David’s desk, his eyes scanning the selection of designer clothing on the page. He recognized the site as one of the places David shopped now when he wanted something “new” -- a consignment website where people sold gently used high-end clothing at discounted prices. Because as much as Patrick wanted David to have everything his heart desired, purchasing any of these pieces new simply wasn’t in the budget. But this, they could swing every now and then. And maybe… maybe this was one thing he could do for David.</p><p>His hand on the mouse, Patrick scrolled up to the top of the page and clicked into the search bar, taking a deep breath as he typed in the words “Alexander McQueen houndstooth sweater.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>David spent most of day one sleeping, which Patrick was thankful for, since it kept him from being bored and asking for his phone, or his laptop, or to watch TV -- all of which were off limits for now. He woke up on day two still very, very sore, though he said the headache and the lingering nausea were both finally gone -- something else Patrick was thankful for, because he hated seeing David suffering from any sort of pain or discomfort.</p><p>Patrick made the decision to close the store again for the day, although he knew this was likely the last day he could do that, given that the store was their only source of income and being closed meant <i>no</i> income. But opening the store would also mean leaving David alone at the house, and Patrick didn’t exactly like the idea of <i>that</i> either -- at least, not yet. He’d have to figure it out, though; they didn’t have much choice. For the moment, however, his main focus was David.</p><p>“Do you want to stop and get a pizza on the way home? Or some of that baked spaghetti you like?” Patrick asked, turning his head slightly to glance at his husband in the passenger seat of the car.</p><p>Under normal circumstances, David would have been thrilled with either of those options -- expressing his excitement with a crooked grin and a little shimmy, even in the confines of the car. But these were clearly not normal circumstances, and the muted, somewhat disinterested response Patrick received made him wish even harder that there was something -- anything -- that he could do to make things easier for David.</p><p>They’d just left the orthopedist’s office after spending most of the afternoon there -- first, waiting, then having x-rays taken, then waiting some more, and finally talking with the doctor. David had been diagnosed with a distal radius fracture, though luckily he wouldn’t need surgery. The bulky splint that had been put on in the ER was replaced with a fiberglass cast -- black, of course -- and David was sent home with a prescription for vicodin that they’d already stopped to fill at the drive-thru pharmacy in Elmdale. They hadn’t even made it out of the parking lot before David was asking Patrick to open the bottle so he could take one, and that had told Patrick all he needed to know about exactly how shitty David felt.</p><p>“Garlic cheesy bread, too? And mozzarella sticks, for good measure?” Patrick asked, still hoping he could get at least a half-smile out of his husband at the prospect of two of his favorite foods.</p><p>A soft “mmhmm” was all he got, though, while David leaned his head against the passenger side window, his eyes only about half open as he stared out at the dozens of big-box stores that lined Elmdale’s main drag.</p><p>“Okay.” Patrick smiled sadly to himself as he reached over to lay a hand on David’s thigh, brushing his thumb back and forth a couple of times over the soft fabric of David’s black joggers. He wanted to ask if there was anything else David needed -- anything that could comfort him in any way -- but he also wanted to get David home as soon as he could, so he could rest while Patrick figured out what the heck they were going to do about the store.</p><p>He left David in the car with the engine running and the heat cranked up while he went inside to place a carryout order at The Elmdale Pizza Company. Twenty minutes later, their dinner was nestled safely in the backseat of Patrick’s Corolla and they were on their way back to Schitt’s Creek.</p><p>David ate barely more than a few bites of his food, seeming to be in even more pain than he had been the day before, despite the stronger painkillers. Logic told Patrick that it was probably just from having his arm set and casted, but the anxious part of Patrick’s brain that had somehow managed to overtake his rational mind in the past couple of days kept poking at him, making him wonder if perhaps David had other injuries that had gone unnoticed.</p><p>Patrick had a restless night, spending a good chunk of it watching David sleep, thankful that he seemed to be resting comfortably, despite the pain he’d been in earlier that evening. When Patrick’s alarm went off in the morning, David was still snoring, so he pressed a gentle kiss to David’s cheek before rolling out of bed and shuffling into the bathroom, hoping that a shower might help him feel a little more awake, since he had to work the full day alone at the store.</p><p>He’d already texted Stevie the night before to see if she’d be up for coming over, just so David wouldn’t be completely alone -- and so that someone would be there if he needed something that required two hands. Taking a deep breath, Patrick tilted his head back and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of the body wash David had carefully selected just for him. A part of Patrick felt guilty for being so worried about how the next six-to-eight weeks would go; after all, David was the one who was hurt. But seeing David hurting… it hurt Patrick too.</p><p>Patrick finished up his shower and dried off, dressing as quietly as he could so as not to wake his sleeping husband before he tucked his phone into his pocket and headed downstairs. He tried his best to go about his morning routine as normal -- checking his email (and glancing at David’s to make sure no vendors had sent urgent messages), making his morning tea, and sitting down at the table to check up on the day’s news on his tablet while eating breakfast.</p><p>He’d just finished his bowl of oatmeal when he saw David out of the corner of his eye at the bottom of the staircase, fully dressed and rubbing his eyes with his left hand as he tried to stifle a yawn.</p><p>“Hey,” Patrick said. “What are you doing up?”</p><p>“We’re working today, right?” David blinked sleepily at Patrick, looking as adorably confused as he did almost every morning at this hour. He was wearing one of the few short-sleeved shirts in his wardrobe and a fuzzy, oversized black and white cardigan with only his left arm in the sleeve, the right side simply draped over his shoulder.</p><p>“Well, I am, but you don’t need to. Stevie should be here in a few minutes; I figured the two of you could use a day to yourselves.”</p><p>Patrick wasn’t sure what sort of reaction he’d expected when he set up this arrangement without asking David, but the one he got was a look of sheer confusion.</p><p>“I… what?” David blinked again, as if he was trying to make sense of what Patrick had just told him. “But isn’t she only in town for one day?”</p><p>“Well, yeah, but--”</p><p>“I thought she was just here to take care of some things at the motel, then she was flying out to Chicago to meet with a prospective franchisee.”</p><p>“I don’t know, but she--”</p><p>“I’m not totally helpless. Besides, Stevie has her own life. And a job.”</p><p>“Are you really turning down a day off with Stevie?”</p><p>“Yes, because I know how stressed out she was about only having one day to get all of this shit done, and there’s no way in hell <i>Roland</i> can be trusted with any of it. I’m going to the store, with you, and I’ll see Stevie next week when she’s back home for more than a day. Also, I think we <i>both</i> know that a day with Stevie almost always comes with at least one bottle of wine, and if I’ve learned anything from being the son of Moira Rose, it’s that wine and prescription painkillers are <i>not</i> a good combination.”</p><p>“David, are you really sure you should--”</p><p>“I can’t just <i>stay home</i> for the next six weeks,” David interrupted, the tiniest hint of irritation starting to creep into his tone.</p><p>“I know, but don’t you think you should at least rest for another day or two?”</p><p>“I’m fine. It’s just a broken arm. And there’s plenty I can do at the store, even one handed.”</p><p>“Okay,” Patrick sighed, picking his phone up off the table. “I’ll text Stevie.”</p><p>***</p><p>David wasn’t wrong -- there was plenty he could do at the store -- but watching him struggle to work out how to do things one-handed turned out to be even harder than Patrick thought it would be. It had started when David attempted to unlock the front door while juggling his cup of coffee, not even waiting for Patrick to finish getting the rest of their things out of the car, and it had continued as David tried to label some new bottles of moisturizer that had just come in -- holding them gingerly in his right hand, despite the sling, so he could label them with his left. Patrick could hear him cursing under his breath as he tried to get the labels as straight and perfect as he normally could with his right hand.</p><p>“Here, let me help you.”</p><p>“I’ve got it,” David said softly, brow furrowed in concentration. “I can do it.”</p><p>“Are you sure you should be holding those with your right hand, though?”</p><p>“I can still use my fingers.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to be--”</p><p>“These are, like, three ounce bottles, Patrick. The doctor said no more than a pound, and this is well under that.”</p><p>“I know, but…” Patrick paused and took a breath, reminding himself that he was trying to <i>help</i> David, not argue with him. “I just… I think it might be easier if we do it together.”</p><p>David was quiet for several seconds, his face taking a journey through several different emotions -- frustration and indignance, mostly -- before he drew his lips into his mouth and let out a soft sigh. “Okay,” he whispered. “Yeah. You’re right.”</p><p>Together, they worked out a pretty decent system for the new products, with Patrick taking care of the labeling while David did the merchandising. They made it through the morning without incident, and David even managed to handle the store by himself for fifteen minutes or so while Patrick walked over to the cafe to grab lunch. When mid-afternoon hit, however, David’s energy started to flag, his mood darkening considerably along with it. Patrick could tell that David was trying to push through the pain and fatigue -- likely because he didn’t want to admit Patrick had been right, and that he should have stayed home.</p><p>At least one version of Patrick would have enjoyed trolling and teasing his husband with a good-natured “I told you so,” but this wasn’t the time. David’s pain was all over his face -- clear in the set of his jaw and the single crease between his dark brows as he rang up a sale and said, “Thank you for shopping at Rose Apothecary,” in a tight voice.</p><p>Once the customer was out the door, Patrick set down the skeins of alpaca yarn he’d been labeling and came around the counter, one hand finding its way to the small of David’s back as he quietly said, “Hey, why don’t you go in the back and rest a bit?”</p><p>“I’m okay, I… I think I just need my medication.”</p><p>With that, David disappeared through the curtain to the back room, emerging a few seconds later with his pill bottle in-hand.</p><p>“Open, please.”</p><p>Patrick nodded and took the bottle, opening it and shaking one of the pills out into his palm before handing it to David, who quickly downed the pill, along with half a bottle of water. He needed a way to get David into the back and at least sitting down, but almost everything he thought of was something that would be better done himself, until he remembered the website.</p><p>Ever since Alexis had left for New York, it had been… languishing. Patrick had been wanting to hire someone to rework it a bit, but it wasn’t in the budget -- at least not yet -- so he hadn’t brought it up to David. Now, though, seemed like the perfect time.</p><p>Fifteen minutes later, Patrick had David sitting at the desk in the stockroom with his laptop, picking their website apart in the way that only David could, making notes for changes that would help the site not only better match their in-store aesthetic, but also work better for their customers. He’d still seemed annoyed (and slightly suspicious) at first, but it hadn’t taken him long to get completely absorbed in the task -- eventually moving to the couch they kept back there so he could be more comfortable once his eyelids started getting heavy. When Patrick peeked through the curtain with only a few minutes left before closing, David was asleep, the laptop having slid halfway off of his legs and onto the couch cushion beside him.</p><p>That sort of thing became the story of their lives together at the store for the next few weeks, with Patrick trying to do as much as he could to make things easier for David -- like finding reasons for him to sit at the cash instead of working the sales floor, or sending him to do things in the back that would hopefully lead to an impromptu afternoon nap. For the most part, David went along with it, usually responding with mild irritation before finally giving in and doing whatever Patrick had suggested. There were plenty of times when David would get a bit… agitated… but that was just David -- the man Patrick knew and loved.</p><p>From Patrick’s point of view, they’d found a comfortable routine -- one where David didn’t have to struggle with things, and Patrick didn’t have to worry about whether or not David was doing too much. And although things certainly weren’t <i>easy</i>, they weren’t as bad as Patrick had worried they would be, and that was a very good thing.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“There will be <i>no</i> bells other than the one over the door, and we are <i>not</i> doing ‘Rose-y day.’ Understood?”</p><p>Jocelyn nodded as David looked her up and down with narrowed eyes, as if he still didn’t quite trust that no bell was hidden in the pocket of her high-waisted jeans.</p><p>“Okay, David,” Patrick said impatiently. “I think she’s got it. Now, come on. We have to go, or we’re going to be late.”</p><p>The six weeks that Patrick had expected to crawl had actually flown by, and now they were on their way out the door to what they hoped would be David’s final appointment with the orthopedic specialist -- the one where he’d finally (hopefully) get the cast off and be able to start using his right arm again.</p><p>David opened his mouth to say something else, but Patrick grabbed him by the arm and tugged him out the door before he could do so.</p><p>“C’mon, David,” Patrick said, pressing the button on the keyfob to unlock their new car -- an SUV, all wheel drive with <i>all</i> the safety features (Patrick’s non-negotiable), in black, of course (David’s non-negotiable). “It’s only for a couple of hours; she’ll be fine.”</p><p>“I don’t see why we couldn’t wait until next week, when Stevie will be back.”</p><p>“Because your doctor will be on vacation next week, remember? Besides, wouldn’t you rather get the cast off sooner?”</p><p>David grumbled as he reached across his body to grab the seatbelt with his left hand, saying something Patrick didn’t quite understand, though it sounded like something about Jocelyn being very “off-brand.” Patrick was willing to excuse it, though, because he knew David was anxious about getting the cast off, and anxiety almost always made David even more disagreeable than usual.</p><p>Stevie had covered the store for them when they’d driven to Elmdale for David’s two-week checkup, but this time, she was out of town on business -- something that had become a regular routine for her since the expansion of Rosebud Motel Group. She was seeing the world, though -- or at least most of North America -- and Patrick knew David was happy for her. Honestly, Patrick was too, even if it did mean they’d lost their most dependable backup “employee” at the Apothecary.</p><p>They spent the drive to Elmdale this time making plans for celebratory ice cream after the doctor’s office, since David had quickly vetoed any lengthier lunch plans that would result in Jocelyn having even more time at the store on her own. Patrick had to fight rolling his eyes at that, because in her short tenure as an employee, Jocelyn had actually been a more effective salesperson than either of them, so David’s objections really made no sense; it was just David being, well… David. </p><p>In the waiting room at the orthopedist’s office, they sat together in the corner, the fingers of Patrick’s right hand interlaced with David’s left, while David stared down at his cast. The white liner visible at the edges was dirty, despite David’s best efforts to keep things as clean as possible, and Patrick knew David was looking forward to actually <i>washing</i> his right hand for the first time in a month and a half -- not to mention washing his own hair. Patrick, on the other hand, was looking forward to taking David home later that night and finally giving him the gift he’d bought on impulse while David slept on that first day -- a replacement for the sweater that had been ruined in the accident.</p><p>Patrick had bought it perhaps more quickly than he’d ever purchased anything in his life -- just as sure about this particular purchase as he had been about his decision to become David’s business partner. It felt… right. Like it was one thing he could do to correct everything that had gone wrong on that fateful day.</p><p>After fifteen minutes of waiting, David’s name was finally called and the two of them were escorted into the back, where Patrick waited in the hallway while x-rays were taken of David’s arm, then they continued together to an exam room to wait some more. Thankfully, they weren’t alone for too long before there was a light knock on the door and the doctor came in.</p><p>“Hello, Mr. Rose… Mr. Brewer,” he said, giving them both a nod as he sat down in front of the computer and brought up David’s x-ray. He asked David a few questions about how things were going while he looked over the images.</p><p>Patrick could see David biting his lip between answers, his brow beginning to wrinkle with worry as the doctor zoomed in on one particular area of the x-ray where the dark line of the fracture hadn’t quite disappeared completely. Patrick knew what that meant, and he knew David wasn’t going to be happy about it.</p><p>“You’re healing very well, Mr. Rose,” the doctor said, turning his attention to David as he folded his own hands together in his lap. “Everything looks good. That said, I’d like to see a little more solid bone regrowth before we take the cast off, just to hedge our bets against any future problems. So, let’s give it another two weeks, and we’ll check back in and go from there.”</p><p>David gave a small nod, the disappointment in his eyes and the way he continued to chew at the inside of his lip belying his quick agreement. “Okay,” he said, sounding as unsure as he looked.</p><p>“Any questions for me?”</p><p>The doctor looked back and forth between both of them for a few seconds before David finally shook his head.</p><p>“Great, I’ll see you in two weeks, then.”</p><p>Tucking his tablet under his arm, the doctor opened the door and left the room as David stood, letting out an audible sigh.</p><p>Patrick reached out to wrap an arm around David’s torso. “Hey, it’s just two more weeks,” he said softly. “It’ll go by quick.”</p><p>“Yeah.” David’s voice was just as soft, still bearing a note of uncertainty as they walked out into the hallway together, hand in hand.</p><p>After setting up David’s next appointment, they walked back to the car together in silence. Patrick didn’t have the heart to bring up the celebratory ice cream now that there was nothing to celebrate, so he drove them straight back to Schitt’s Creek, all the while trying not to think too much about how quiet David was being in the passenger seat.</p><p>It was lunchtime when they got back to the store, so Patrick, eager to give David any sort of comfort he could, headed over to the cafe to pick up lunch while David relieved Jocelyn of her duties. The store appeared to still be in working order -- at least from outside the windows -- and although Patrick was sure David would have at least a handful of complaints about how Jocelyn had handled things, he hoped it wouldn’t be <i>too</i> much. He wanted David to have a good rest of the day, even if he did still have to spend two more weeks in a cast, and the first thing he could do was order David’s favorite comfort meal.</p><p>“Cheeseburger and fries, please,” Patrick said to Twyla, watching as she jotted the order down on a kitchen ticket, below the one for his own turkey sandwich and vegetable soup that he’d already ordered. “And a slice of chocolate cake.”</p><p>“In the doghouse, are we?” Twyla raised an eyebrow and smirked at Patrick, her eyes sparkling.</p><p>“Nah, just… David hasn’t had the best day, that’s all.” Patrick shrugged and glanced down at the counter as Twyla hummed in response, nodding her head.</p><p>“Got it. I’ll be sure to give him the biggest slice of cake we’ve got.”</p><p>“Thanks, Twyla.” Patrick turned to look over his shoulder at the busy dining room as Twyla sent their order back to George in the kitchen. Ronnie and Vanessa were sitting at the table by the window, chatting as they shared a cake slice of their own, and nearly every other table was full. Patrick recognized most of them even if he didn’t know their names -- the benefit (or maybe the curse) of owning a small business in a small town.</p><p>In the far corner, Bob and Roland were sitting together in a booth, where Roland, as usual, was chowing down on fried chicken with his mouth open and trying to have a conversation at the same time. Meanwhile, Bob attempted to hold his burger together with both hands, just as a tomato slid out of the bun and plopped unceremoniously onto the plate. The burgers from the cafe were almost always messy -- it was the one thing David complained about most at lunchtime -- and watching Bob struggle with his suddenly had Patrick second-guessing his choice for David’s meal, even though he was sure it was probably too late to change it.</p><p>“Hey, Twyla?”</p><p>Twyla paused in the middle of boxing up David’s cake, eyebrows raised. “Hmm?”</p><p>“Can you, uh… Do you think George could cut that burger into quarters? So it’s, um… so it’s easier for David to eat with one hand?” Patrick wasn’t sure he should be making this request, but the only alternative he could think of was taking a fork and a knife and doing it himself in front of David, which would definitely be worse. Having George do it was probably best, because that would give Patrick more room to play it off.</p><p>“Sure!” Twyla chirped. “That’s no problem at all.”</p><p>With a flip of her ponytail over her shoulder, Twyla relayed Patrick’s request to George in the kitchen before closing the to-go box that contained David’s cake and setting it aside to wait for the rest of their order.</p><p>Fifteen minutes later, Patrick walked into the Apothecary carrying a loaded-down paper bag, just as David finished ringing up a customer. He’d gotten pretty adept at operating the register and bagging purchases mostly one-handed, though Patrick knew they were both looking forward to the day when David wouldn’t have to engineer a new way to do practically everything with his left hand.</p><p>“Thanks for shopping at Rose Apothecary,” David said, his lips curved upward just slightly into his “customer service smile” as he pushed one of their signature tote bags across the counter toward a woman Patrick had never seen before -- probably one of the out-of-towners drawn in by Moira’s return to fame. They’d usually stop to take a selfie or two at the garden beside the Apothecary and have lunch at the cafe before going over to the motel for even more selfies, or to try to book room seven.</p><p>“I got you a cheeseburger,” Patrick said, already starting to unload the bag before the bell over the door had even chimed. “And some cake.”</p><p>Patrick held his breath, hoping for <i>some</i> sort of positive reaction. He knew that food was one of David’s primary sources of comfort and his go-to way to process emotions, but David’s moods had been sort of… all over the place lately, leaving Patrick not quite so sure what to expect.</p><p>Though he didn’t get the grin or the shoulder shimmy he would have liked to see, he <i>did</i> get a tiny smile out of David as he said, “Well, at least food is one of the things that never lets me down.”</p><p>Patrick wrapped his arms around David’s shoulders briefly, lifting up on his toes to give David a kiss. “I hope it helps.”</p><p>David went for the cake first, just as Patrick had thought he might. (After all, there wasn’t much that a good dessert couldn’t fix as far as David was concerned.) Seeing David honestly enjoy the cake -- tilting his head back and closing his eyes, letting out the occasional tiny moan of joy -- made Patrick feel like he’d done something right, even on a day when things were mostly out of his control.</p><p>Once all of the crumbs and remaining frosting had been scraped up by David’s fork, he opened the box containing his cheeseburger and fries, his brow immediately furrowing as he looked down at it.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked, quickly swallowing his bite of soup. “Did they give me the wrong order?”</p><p>“Um, why is my burger cut into four pieces?”</p><p>Patrick’s heart was hammering in his chest as he tried to remind himself to play it cool. “I dunno. Maybe it’s something new they’re doing.”</p><p>“Who cuts a burger into <i>quarters</i>? Like, halves I would understand, but it’s not a fucking club sandwich. Remind me to tell Twyla that whoever decided <i>this</i> was the way to serve a burger is very, very wrong. I mean, I know it’s Twyla's Cafe Tropical and nobody expects gourmet cuisine, but unless it’s one of those stupid one-pound heart-attack burgers or something, there’s really no reason to--”</p><p>“I did it.” Patrick cut David off before he could get any further into his tirade, because the last thing he wanted was for David to go ranting to Twyla about how <i>wrong</i> it was to cut a burger like that, when it was something <i>Patrick</i> had asked for, and the thing he wanted even <i>less</i> was for David to find out from <i>Twyla</i> that Patrick had lied to him about it.</p><p>“What?” David broke the silence that had settled between them while Patrick’s thoughts ran away with him. “Why?”</p><p>Patrick looked down at the counter, studying the fingernails on his left hand simply because he couldn’t bring himself to look David in the eye. “Because I thought it’d be easier for you to eat.”</p><p>David was quiet for several more seconds, seemingly mulling over exactly what was happening. When he spoke again, the forced evenness in his tone told Patrick exactly how much he’d fucked up.</p><p>“So… <i>you</i> cut it up for me?” David spoke slowly… carefully. “At the cafe? In front of everyone?”</p><p>“No, I, uh…” Patrick took a breath to steel himself, knowing it was better to come clean now, because he’d always been a terrible liar. “I asked Twyla if George could do it when he boxed it up--”</p><p>“You asked <i>Twyla</i> to have <i>George</i> do it for me? Like I’m a child, or some sort of an invalid who can’t pick up a burger, or at the very least cut it up myself?” David’s voice seemed to rise another octave with each new sentence, his left arm flailing and making his indignance very, very clear.</p><p>“David, I was just trying to help--”</p><p>“Well, you're <i>not</i> helping!” David snapped as he closed the lid on his takeout box and picked it up before disappearing through the curtain and into the back room.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took everything Patrick had to <i>not</i> follow David into the back -- to not barge in and shower David with apologies and explanations. He really had only been trying to help; he’d never intended to make David feel incapable. But it was clear that David wanted space, and no matter how hard it was, Patrick was determined to give it to him.</p><p>So he sat behind the counter and picked at what was left of his lunch for several minutes before giving up and throwing the remains of his sandwich and the last dregs of soup in the trash, having long ago lost his appetite. Thankfully, he was only left alone with his thoughts for a few more seconds before a customer came in and saved him from himself.</p><p>He’d figured it would be just his luck that she’d be there to buy moisturizer or to ask for one of the full facial skincare consultations David was starting to become known for in the Greater Elms, but she turned out to be shopping for a birthday gift for her best friend. Even that, though, made it hard not to call for David, who easily put together the best gift baskets in the entire county. Instead, Patrick led her away from the bath products and toward the hand-carved wooden jewelry boxes and earring trees -- simple, one-item gifts he could easily box up and wrap without having to curate anything.</p><p>Once he had boxed up the young woman’s selection and sent her on her way, Patrick had to find himself another distraction, so he pulled his laptop out of his bag -- which thankfully was still behind the counter and not in the back room -- and opened up their budget spreadsheet for the year. He’d already analyzed it to death, yes, but he needed <i>something</i> to focus on, so he could actually give David the space he’d implicitly asked for without losing his mind.</p><p>It took another hour before David finally emerged from the back, still not saying much -- and responding to Patrick’s sincere apology with a simple nod and a whispered, “I know.”</p><p>Patrick told himself that David was probably quiet because he was frustrated about the outcome of his appointment, which was completely understandable. It had been a very long six weeks for David, and Patrick knew he was tired of the cast and everything else that came along with it. But that knowledge didn’t make it any easier to navigate the obvious tension that existed between them for the rest of the afternoon. Patrick wanted desperately to make things better for his husband, but he didn’t know how. He’d already fucked up the one thing that had seemed like a sure bet -- food -- so that left his options somewhat limited to say the least, but he had to at least <i>try</i>.</p><p>“Hey, what do you say we go home and have a movie night?” Patrick suggested, his voice as gentle as the hand he’d placed on David’s back while David finished counting the change in the drawer. “Your pick.”</p><p>David nodded and let out a soft hum as he dropped the last of the pennies back into the drawer. “Okay.”</p><p>It wasn’t exactly the reaction Patrick had hoped for, but at least David was talking to him and agreeing to spend time with him, so he’d take it.</p><p>The ride home was every bit as quiet as the afternoon at the store had been, though it was blessedly much shorter, and thus not so… unbearable. Patrick wanted to apologize again, but he wasn’t sure it would be of any use, so he swallowed it down this time, choosing instead to focus his attention on cooking dinner while David showered and changed into his sweats.</p><p>When he’d finished plating up the grilled cheese sandwiches and set them alongside steaming bowls of tomato basil soup -- with fresh basil from the plant in their kitchen windowsill -- David still hadn’t come back downstairs, despite the fact that the water from the shower had stopped running quite a bit before. Maybe David had decided to lie down for a few minutes, Patrick thought to himself. After all, it had been a tough day, in more ways than one.</p><p>Patrick wiped his hands on a towel and started up the stairs, hoping that <i>this</i> particular food-related surprise might be a bit more well-received, since it was one of David’s favorite cold weather comfort meals. He’d deliberately chosen to cut the sandwiches into halves so as not to repeat the afternoon’s misstep, even though he knew the amount of mental debate he’d put into it was absolutely ridiculous. But that was exactly how his thoughts had been for the last six weeks -- swinging back and forth between hyperfocus and not being able to focus at all, with the comfortable middle ground Patrick was usually able to keep himself in, suddenly out of reach.</p><p>He took a deep breath as he got to the top, the sound of David’s voice drifting out of the bedroom breaking through his thoughts.</p><p>“I know, but I wish you were <i>here</i>. Of all the times for you to be stuck in fucking <i>North Dakota</i>...”</p><p>Patrick had to chuckle at the clear disdain in David’s voice when he said the name of the state -- the exact same way he’d said it to Stevie in person a few days before as they all sat around the table, having dinner together the way they did most Sunday nights. Stevie had been headed there to close on a new motel property, which she’d patiently explained to David -- <i>again</i> -- was part of her job, even if it meant she had to go places like Fargo. (<i>Stay away from used car salesmen,</i> David had told her. <i>And whatever you do, don’t get murdered.</i>)</p><p>Patrick was mere feet from the open door to their bedroom when he heard David’s voice again.</p><p>“He’s <i>smothering</i> me… It’s not funny, Stevie.” David paused again, sounding scandalized. “So it’s not enough for <i>him</i> to treat me like a child, now he’s asking <i>other people</i> to do it too? I don’t know how I’m going to survive two more <i>weeks</i> of this! I… I need to get away from him for a while. I need a break.”</p><p>Patrick stopped dead in his tracks, David’s voice echoing in his ears. <i>I need a break.</i></p><p>He wasn’t sure why those four words hit him like a punch to the gut -- why the rational mind that <i>should</i> have been able to understand David’s frustration instead of taking it personally seemed to have abandoned him completely. But the next thing Patrick knew, he was stumbling back down the stairs, either unwilling or unable to listen to whatever other complaints David had about him.</p><p>He really had only been trying to help. In fact, that was all he’d been doing for the last six weeks -- trying to make things easier for David. So maybe this time he’d overstepped, especially getting Twyla and George involved, but he’d already acknowledged that. He’d given David space, and he’d apologized; what more did David want?</p><p>Before Patrick could stop it, his brain was off and running with thoughts of what else David might not be saying. Was David really as happy here, in Schitt’s Creek, with Patrick, as he said he was? Or were his and Stevie’s “wine nights” at her apartment really just an opportunity for David to rant about how <i>un</i>happy he was? Were things not as good as Patrick thought they were?</p><p>Patrick shook his head, the logical side of his brain at least having enough presence to know that he was spiraling and that he needed to stop. The sight of his coat hanging on the hook by the door caught his eye -- maybe he just needed to go for a walk. Clear his head… get a little fresh air. Fresh air always helped.</p><p>David’s voice, though garbled and impossible to understand from downstairs, was still audible even in the doorway as Patrick shrugged his coat on and stepped out into the cold night air. It wasn’t as chilly as it had been even a month before, but he could still clearly see his breath as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and started down the driveway toward the road.</p><p>He walked along the narrow shoulder, kicking the occasional rock with the toe of his shoe -- the same “mountaineering shoes” that David had once declared patently <i>incorrect</i>. David had never been shy about expressing his displeasure for something, so why now? Why had he let Patrick keep doing things for him if all he was really doing was making things worse?</p><p>Patrick kept walking while the spiral of negative thoughts threatened to pull him under, the loose gravel on the roadside crunching beneath his boots as the cold wind whipped past his cheeks; he’d completely forgotten his hat, scarf, and gloves in his haste to get the fuck out of there. The cold air felt good, though -- sobering. Keeping him grounded, even as his mind tried to run away with him.</p><p>He was right in the middle of mentally reliving the past year or so of his and David’s married life -- looking for other things he might have done that were more annoying than endearing -- when his boot suddenly slipped off the edge of blacktop, his foot rolling to the side as his left ankle gave way. He stumbled into the tall grass along the fence of the farm down the road from their house, barely managing to keep his footing as a sharp pain shot up his leg. Leaning heavily against one of the wooden fenceposts, Patrick closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath, cursing silently to himself as his ankle started to throb. Once his heart rate had finally slowed back to normal, he shifted a little more weight into that foot, hoping that he hadn’t managed to break something -- although that would be his luck. He’d just picked it up and started to rotate it through its full range of motion when he sensed something over his shoulder and looked up to see… a cow.</p><p>It was just one cow, its snout so close to Patrick that he could hear it breathing as it blinked its large eyes, regarding him with obvious curiosity before pressing its nose against his shoulder and nudging him. Huffing out a laugh, Patrick reached up with one hand and stroked the cow’s head, a smile spreading across his lips when she seemed to lean into his touch.</p><p>“You like that, huh?” Patrick murmured, gently stroking the animal’s fur with his fingertips. “Can’t say I’ve ever pet a cow before.” He shook his head, chuckling as she nuzzled him again, turning one ear toward him to scratch. He’d seen plenty of cows in his lifetime -- after all, he’d grown up in rural Ontario -- but he’d never actually <i>touched</i> one, much less had one beg for his attention like a dog. And, oddly enough, standing there leaning on the fencepost, petting a random stranger’s cow, had much the same effect that petting a dog might have; it calmed him, helping slow his racing thoughts. Or at least, slowing them enough for Patrick to realize exactly how ridiculous it was for him to be out there, in the dark, leaning against the neighbor’s fence, talking to a cow, when he should be at home, talking to his husband. Because that was what they did; it was what their relationship was built on. Talking things out… not running away when things got tough.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Patrick pushed himself up to stand, gingerly shifting his weight into his left leg to test out his ankle. It hurt, but he could put his full weight on it, so that seemed like a good sign.</p><p>“Well, it’s been nice talking to you,” Patrick said, giving the cow one last scratch behind the ears and trying not to think about the fact that he’d just said <i>goodbye</i> to a <i>cow</i>. “Thanks, Bessie. If that’s even your name.”</p><p>Slowly and carefully, Patrick limped off in the direction of home, really starting to wish he’d at least remembered to grab his toque. But he hadn’t been thinking straight when he left; he’d been too hurt… too blindsided by things David apparently hadn’t been able to bring himself to say, the thought of which only made Patrick feel even more guilty.</p><p>When Patrick stepped through the front door of their cottage, David was pacing in the living room, his phone pressed to his ear, gesturing wildly with his casted arm as he turned to make eye contact with Patrick.</p><p>“Oh, thank god,” he breathed, hanging up without even saying goodbye to whomever was on the other end and dropping the phone onto the sofa before coming out into the foyer. “Where the fuck were you? I tried calling your phone, but it was on the table, along with our <i>dinner</i>, and you were nowhere to be found. I thought you’d been <i>kidnapped</i>, or… abducted by aliens, or something.”</p><p>Patrick couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped his lips as he took off his coat and hung it up, then started toward the bench so he could take off his boots. Leave it to David to come up with a storyline worthy of <i>Sunrise Bay</i> to explain Patrick’s absence.</p><p>“It’s not funny; I was worried sick,” David said, his eyes following Patrick as he moved to sit down. “Wait, why are you limping?”</p><p>David took a step closer to Patrick and reached out for him, almost managing to make contact before Patrick raised his own hands and leaned away to avoid David’s touch. “In the interest of full disclosure, the last thing I touched was a cow,” he said, watching as David’s right eyebrow quirked upward incredulously. “So, just thought you might want to know that, before you touch me.”</p><p>“What? A cow?” David drew his hands back and cringed. “What happened to you? Or did you actually get abducted by aliens, and they’ve got some sort of a… thing… for cows?”</p><p>“Well, we were talking--”</p><p>“You… and the cow?” A deep crease formed between David’s brows as he regarded Patrick with concern. “Honey, are you sure you’re okay?”</p><p>“Yes, I’m fine. I just needed to clear my head, so I went for a walk, and I twisted my ankle, and--”</p><p>“You went for a <i>walk</i>? In the dark? After you put dinner on the table?”</p><p>Patrick took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the floor between them. “Yeah, I… I was trying to give you a break. Some time away from me. I thought that was what you wanted.”</p><p>“You heard that.” It was a statement, not a question, spoken softly while David bit his lip. All of the turmoil and confusion of the previous few minutes was gone, replaced with a shame that made Patrick’s heart clench. It was a tone he didn’t hear from David very often anymore -- and one he honestly didn’t miss. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I--”</p><p>“No, I’m the one who should be sorry.” Patrick finally looked up, his eyes meeting David’s, which were shining with unshed tears. “You did nothing wrong, okay? It was all me. I…” He let his voice trail off as he closed his eyes, feeling the sudden pressure of all of the emotion he’d been pushing down and bottling up for the last six weeks as it bubbled up toward the surface. When he opened his eyes again, a single tear slipped down his cheek as David sat down beside him, reaching up to wipe the tear away with his thumb, the cow clearly forgotten.</p><p>“Honey, what is it?” David asked softly, with a tenderness Patrick wasn’t sure he deserved right then. “What’s wrong? You can tell me anything; you know that.”</p><p>Patrick nodded slowly, his next exhale coming out as a sigh. “I was so scared… When I didn’t hear from you… When the hospital called… You could have been… David, you could have been seriously hurt, or… or killed… and I… I sort of felt like it was all my fault.”</p><p>The fingers of David’s right hand slowly traveled up and down Patrick’s back as he spoke, the rough material of the cast catching on the fabric a couple of times. “Why would it be your fault, honey? It was an accident. You didn’t put the ice on the road.”</p><p>“No, but I could have told you not to go, or I could have had you take my car… or…” Blinking back more tears, Patrick inhaled a shaky breath. “I just can’t stop going over everything I could have done differently. If I could have changed it somehow. And I guess… I guess my way of making it up to you has been to make sure you didn’t have to worry about anything. To take good care of you. But I guess maybe I took it a little too far.”</p><p>“The accident wasn’t your fault.” This time, David’s voice was strong and sure, leaving no room for argument. “And I’m okay; it’s just a broken arm. I need some help with a few things, but most of it I can figure out if I need to. You don’t have to protect me, and you don’t have to stress yourself out trying to… anticipate. I can do things on my own, and I’m okay with that.”</p><p>“I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t.” Patrick sniffled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I never meant to do that. I did what I did because I love you.”</p><p>“I know.” David’s hand stilled as he turned to pull Patrick into a hug. “And I love you too. But sometimes I need you to let me do things on my own.”</p><p>“Okay,” Patrick whispered, giving David a small smile despite his tears. “I promise I’ll try.”</p><p>***</p><p>The remainder of David’s time in a cast was much more peaceful, with Patrick consciously letting go of the desire to hover over David or be overprotective. It was something he had to actively work on, though, and he’d still catch himself starting to overstep sometimes -- especially when David was struggling with something. But Patrick had to trust David to know his own limits... and to know when to ask for help.</p><p>Instead of Patrick focusing his attention on making sure David didn’t have to lift a finger to do anything, he shifted it to finding things he could do to help David be more self sufficient, to help make the final two weeks more bearable -- like buying him a long-handled loofa to make showering independently easier. Of course, Patrick still had to help him wash his hair -- and style it every morning -- but David begrudgingly allowed that, on the grounds that what Patrick was capable of with two hands was still better than what he could do himself with one.</p><p>After watching a few YouTube videos containing tips for living with an arm cast, Patrick bought some small foam balls and stuck pens and pencils through them, so David could write or draw if he so desired. Although David had given him a skeptical look at first, Patrick had emerged from the shower later that night to find David curled up in the armchair in their bedroom, writing in his journal.</p><p>More importantly though, Patrick finally felt… at ease. Like he could let go of all of the guilt he’d been carrying for the past month and a half, and just focus on loving his husband -- and being grateful that he was okay.</p><p>On the day of David’s next appointment, Patrick was perhaps even more nervous than David was, although for an entirely different reason. As they drove to Elmdale after leaving the store in Jocelyn’s care despite David’s objections -- which Patrick had already refuted by showing him the sales report for the last morning she’d filled in -- Patrick couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the gift box he’d managed to sneak into the car earlier that morning while David was showering. He was finally going to get to give David his new sweater, assuming the appointment went as planned. And if it didn’t, he was fairly sure he was going to give it to him anyway, just because he couldn’t stand it anymore.</p><p>David’s leg bounced up and down restlessly as they sat together in the waiting room, their fingers twined together as usual, Patrick giving his nervous husband’s hand a gentle squeeze.</p><p>“It’s gonna be fine,” he said, keeping his voice low. “It’s easy and quick.”</p><p>“They use a <i>saw</i> though,” David hissed, giving Patrick an incredulous look. “I mean, what if they go too deep?”</p><p>“It’s not <i>really</i> a saw; it just vibrates to break through the fiberglass. There’s no actual cutting, I promise.”</p><p>David opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by a nurse calling his name. Patrick gave David’s hand one last squeeze as they stood and followed the nurse through the door.</p><p>This time, David finally got the news he’d been anticipating two weeks before, and although he <i>did</i> give both Patrick and the poor man in charge of cutting the cast off a set of wary, sidelong glares at the sight of the cast saw, at the end of the day, they got through it… together.</p><p>Of course, they weren’t <i>completely</i> done -- there would still be several weeks of physical therapy to help David get the strength back in his arm and hand, and in the meantime he’d need to wear a brace to protect and support it. But being free of the cast meant David could at least wash his own hair… and take care of the “exfoliation emergency” he’d declared the second he got a good look at his right arm.</p><p>By the time they got back to the car, Patrick was nearly ready to burst with excitement, drawing another leery glance from David, followed by a look of confusion as Patrick moved to open the back hatch on their SUV.</p><p>“Um, honey…? I’m not sure this is the time <i>or</i> the place… actually, definitely not the place for… you know. Not that the night at the drive-in wasn’t fantastic...”</p><p>Patrick rolled his eyes as he pushed open the hatch. “You know, as much as I'm looking forward to having your right hand on my dick again, I can't say that ‘in the car, in the parking lot of a doctor’s office’ has ever been on my list of fantasies.”</p><p>“Well, when you say it that way...” David purred, moving his shoulders back and forth in a subtle shimmy. God, Patrick had missed that shimmy. But David was right; this wasn’t the time or the place.</p><p>“I thought we could get started on your… ‘physical therapy’... a little later,” Patrick said, returning David’s lascivious look as he reached into the back of the car and nudged the wrapped box closer to his husband. “For right now, though, I wanted to give you this.”</p><p>“What is it?” David raised an eyebrow, an indulgent grin slowly spreading across his face. God, Patrick had missed that grin, too.</p><p>“Open it and see.”</p><p>David carefully tore open the paper and took the lid off the box, his eyes widening when he realized what was inside. “How did you…” He paused and took a breath, running his fingers over the knit. “Where’d you find this?”</p><p>“I have my sources.” Patrick smiled and leaned up to kiss David’s cheek. “And I also really, really wanted to make my husband happy. I know you won’t be able to wear it just yet, with the brace, but I wanted to give it to you anyway… You know, to celebrate.”</p><p>David nodded as his pursed lips drew to one side, his eyes bright.</p><p>Patrick wrapped his arms around David’s torso, tugging him in close as he buried his face in David’s chest, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of his husband. “I love you so much,” he murmured, struggling to fight back tears of his own.</p><p>“I love you too,” David said softly, his voice wavering. “You’re still my happy ending, Patrick Brewer.”</p><p>Patrick looked up at David, letting his emotions take over as the tears he’d been holding back finally slipped down his cheeks. “I’m just really glad you’re okay.”</p><p>David leaned down and pressed his lips to Patrick’s, their tongues swirling around each other for a brief moment before he pulled away, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lip.</p><p>“You made it all okay.”</p>
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